There And Back
by obsessedwithstabler
Summary: Michael has to make every breath count.


Something I've been wanting to write for a while, and I am very proud of this baby. Michael has to make every breath count. Lots of Michael whumpage. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Not mine!

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The first thing that registered in his groggy mind was the sensation of water.

Water everywhere. Warm, lapping at his body, embracing him. What was going on?

He groaned as it hit him. He had left Fiona sleeping at the loft to go pick up dinner. As he was walking back, something had hit him from behind, and a cruelly familiar voice hissed in his ear.

"You're all mine now, Michael."

Simon. Shit.

The pounding in his head intensified into a dull roar, and he slowly opened his eyes. The sun was almost completely set, and a cold fear solidified in his gut when he realized that he was in fact in water. He tentatively moved his head and struggled lightly. His hands were bound behind his back, and from the water that was nearly up to his chest, he surmised that he had been tied to the supporting beam of a pier or dock. His legs were bound as well, and no matter how hard he twisted, he couldn't loosen the binds.

Oh, God, he was going to die.

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"Watch out, Fiona!"

Fiona glowered as she narrowly avoided clipping an SUV. "Shut up, Sam!" she snapped.

"We're not going to be able to save Mike if we get ourselves killed in the process!" Sam yelled, gripping the dashboard until his knuckles turned white.

Fiona just pressed harder on the gas. Michael wasn't going to die.

She had heard the struggle outside, and she had gotten through the front door in time to see Simon throw Michael into his trunk. She had flown down the steps, enraged, only to be slammed against the wall with brutal force. When she awoke, Sam was knelt down beside her and gently patting her cheek, and she blamed herself for not being able to stop Simon.

The only saving grace was that the psychotic bastard had called and taunted them with clues as to Michael's whereabouts. By the time they figured out what his sick mind had planned, she was terrified that they were going to be too late. Now they were racing toward the piers at breakneck speed, both of them praying that they would get there in time.

"Hang on, Michael," Fiona murmured.

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Michael gasped and sputtered as the water slowly rose to his chin. Any sliver of light was gone, and the water was quickly turning cold. But that wouldn't matter soon.

His hands were chafed and aching, and probably bleeding, he suspected, but he continued to struggle against the binds. If Sam and Fiona weren't on their way, he'd have to get himself out or die. And he wasn't ready to give up.

"Fiona!"

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As soon as they reached the pier they were certain Simon had taken Michael, Fiona jumped out of the car and threw the trunk open. Grabbing flashlights, goggles and knives, she handed one of each to Sam before she shed her jacket, cell phone and shirt. Once she was stripped of everything but her pants and tank top and her goggles were securely in place, she took off running toward the pier, kicking off her heels as she ran.

"Michael!"

Toward the middle of the pier, Michael was struggling to keep his head above water when he thought he heard someone shout his name. It sounded remarkably like Fiona, and he chalked it up to delirium.

As she moved into the water, she flashed the light around. She could make out a form toward the middle of the pier, and she gripped the flashlight between her teeth and dove into the water. Taking long, powerful strokes, she was able to reach the figure tied to the pier.

Michael was nearly underwater, and Fiona shoved the waterproof flashlight into her pocket. "Michael!" She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him desperately.

He gasped, and the fear in his eyes took her breath away. "Fi!"

"Just hang on, Michael. We'll get you out of here."

Sam reached them moments later, breathing heavily. "Hey, brother. Looks like you got yourself in a bind, huh?"

Michael could only glare at his best friend.

Sam quickly took charge of the situation. "Fi, I'll see if his legs are tied. You work on his hands." The water was quickly rising, but Sam managed to control his panic as he took a deep breath and disappeared beneath the water's surface.

Fiona kissed Michael again. "I'll be right back." Retrieving her flashlight, she sucked in a deep breath and plunged underwater.

She could see Sam working to free Michael's legs, and she quickly went to work on his hands. But the rope he had been tied with was thick and tied several times over, and she found herself needing to return to the surface for oxygen, as did Sam. Each time she came up, she touched Michael's face, reminding him that she was still fighting to save him.

The third time she came up, she realized with fear that Michael's head was underwater. Thinking quickly, she took as deep a breath as possible, then submerged herself until she was face to face with her lover. His eyes were open, but no bubbles escaped his mouth or nose. Motioning to the surface, then her mouth, she quickly pressed her lips to his and opened them, breathing precious oxygen into him and leaving just enough for herself to try to cut his hands free. Then she pushed herself further down and began frantically sawing at the rope.

Soon her lungs were desperate for air, and she propelled herself to the surface again, taking a few breaths before she went under again. As she worked, she noticed that Sam had freed Michael's legs. He went up for air, then came back down and helped Fiona cut at the rope. Within seconds it broke, and Sam and Fiona each took one of Michael's arms, quickly pulling him to the surface.

The second they broke the surface of the water, Sam and Fiona gasped and coughed. Without even speaking, they quickly began dragging Michael toward the beach. It was a painful and frightening process, and Fiona couldn't even tell if Michael was breathing. She would have to wait until they got to land before she would be able to check him over.

Sam was just as afraid as Fiona, though he would not admit it. Mike was his best friend, the only man in the world he would go through hell for. That thought pushed him to move faster, and Fiona followed suite.

After what felt like an eternity, Sam felt his feet hit the ocean floor. He and Fiona pulled Michael a safe distance from the water, then gently laid him on the beach.

Immediately Fiona ripped off her goggles, then dropped to her knees beside Michael and pressed her ear to his chest. "He's not breathing, Sam!" She gently pinched two fingers over Michael's nose, then breathed into his mouth.

Sam quickly knelt down across from Fiona and began chest compressions on his best friend. "Come on, Mikey…"

Nearly a full minute later, Michael's body shuddered and he started to cough up the sea water.

Relieved, Fiona gently rolled him onto his side and patted his back. "You're okay, Michael," she soothed, her voice trembling.

Sam fell on his ass in the sand and cradled his head in his hands as Michael coughed up more of the water. "Thank God…"

As Michael began breathing deeply, Fiona gently lifted his head into her lap and began checking him for injuries. There was a nasty gash just above his temple, and his wrists were bleeding from his escape attempts and her knife. She curled her right arm around him and pressed the heel of her left hand against his head wound.

Sam scrubbed his hands over his face. "We need to get him back to the loft, Fi."

She nodded. Sam was right. Michael had started shivering in her embrace, and although his wounds looked mostly superficial, she wouldn't be comfortable until she got him back to the safety of his loft and was able to check him over completely. She had no idea where Simon was, but she doubted he would return to the loft, especially if he thought Michael was dead. And even if he did, they would be ready for him this time.

Gently kissing Michael's head, she looked up at met Sam's eyes. "Let's get him out of here."

Michael was breathing, but he wasn't responsive as Sam and Fiona managed to get him to his feet. Between both of them, they dragged him to Fiona's car and maneuvered him into the backseat. Then Fiona turned to Sam.

"The keys are in the ignition. You drive, Sam."

He nodded, not even cracking wise as he rounded the car and got into the driver's seat. Fiona slipped into the backseat with Michael and situated him in her arms again.

The ride back to the loft was a long and quiet one, and Sam nearly had to carry Mike up the stairs, with Fiona following directly behind. She made him stop at the door, and she went inside first, completing a quick but thorough scan of the loft. Nothing was out of place. Finally she urged Sam inside, watching with a wary eye as he half-carried, half-dragged his best friend over to the bed.

Fiona closed the door and locked it behind them. Then she hurried into the bathroom, grabbing Michael's first aid kit from under the sink.

"What can I do?" Sam questioned as Fiona hurried back to the bed.

"You can get me some water." She sat down beside Michael on the bed, setting the first aid kit down before she set about removing her boyfriend's clothing. Then she checked his legs for any damage. She didn't find any, and she quickly covered him up to his waist with her favorite quilt to help combat his shivering.

Coming back with the water, Sam winced at the damage done to his best friend's upper chest, arms and face. That prick Simon really worked him over, and Sam felt a fresh wave of rage hit him. He had probably done it while Mikey was unconscious. That gutless son of a bitch. "Here's that water, Fi." He set the bowl down within her reach.

"Thanks, Sam." She dipped a cloth into the warm water, then began wiping away the blood that oozed from his wounds. He was still unconscious, and he didn't move as she cleaned the wounds.

Now that Mike was safe and in Fiona's care, Sam suddenly felt exhausted and on the verge of collapse. He sat down in the closest chair with a deep sigh. "How is he?"

"Nothing life threatening, thank God." She placed a piece of gauze against the wound above his temple (a wound that suspiciously resembled the butt of a gun) then secured it there with medical tape. He remained completely still, except for the shivers coursing through his body.

Suddenly his exhaustion was too much, and Sam closed his eyes briefly.

As Fiona wrapped Michael's wrists, his eyes flickered open, and a soft groan rumbled through his chest.

Immediately Fiona swung her gaze toward her injured boyfriend. "Michael…" She reached out and rested her palm against his bruised cheek.

He briefly met her eyes before losing consciousness again, and Fiona sighed quietly. Once she was finished bandaging his wounds, she drew the quilt up to his chest. Then she kissed his forehead and slipped off of the bed.

Sam was snoring lightly in the chair, and Fiona checked all of the windows and the front door again, making sure everything was secure before she grabbed one of Michael's shirts and a pair of shorts. Then she disappeared into the bathroom for a quick shower.

Everything was just as she had left it once she emerged from the shower. She checked the windows and front door once more, then padded over to the bed. Michael was still unconscious, and she surmised he wouldn't fully awaken until the morning time. So she crawled into the bed with him, sliding under the covers and pressing her body against his.

He was still shivering, so she gently draped her arm over his chest and drew him into the curve of her body. Then she lifted one long leg and hooked it over his. His skin was still cool, and she tucked her head under his chin, desperate to warm him with the skin-on-skin contact.

It worked, and slowly he stopped shivering in her embrace. She placed her hand gently over his heart and closed her eyes.

"You're okay, Michael. You're okay."

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The next morning, the sun shined brightly through the windows of the loft. Michael awoke to a pounding in his skull and a dryness in his mouth, and for a moment, he was confused. Was he hungover?

His body tensed as the memories suddenly poured over him like ice water. Simon, the pier, the water… His breathing became harder, until his bleary mind suddenly registered the familiar weight on his chest.

Fiona…

He raised his shaking hand and placed it gently against her thick hair, as though to confirm that he wasn't dead and that he was, in fact, in the loft with Fiona asleep on his chest. She was warm and familiar under his hand, and he let out a deep sigh of relief. The last thing he remembered was the water. Sam and Fiona must have found him and saved him from a certain drowning. How they had done that, he hadn't a clue.

Hearing a familiar snore, he slowly turned his head toward the sound and smiled faintly. Sam was asleep in a nearby chair, his shoes kicked off and his head at an uncomfortable angle.

Slowly he returned his gaze to Fiona. Her upper body was draped over his, and her legs were tangled with his. The gesture was endearing, and there wasn't a doubt in his mind that he loved her.

Wrapping an arm snugly around her, he closed his eyes and focused on the pattern of their breathing. He was in substantial pain and he was still exhausted, but he was alive and Fiona was with him.

As long as she was there, he would be okay.

His fingers ran through her silky hair as he breathed deeply and sleep threatened to overwhelm him.

"Don't ever leave me, Fi."

The End.

A/N: Yay, I love the hurt/comfort! See, I told ya'll I'm not all fluff! Just wait till I really get started... *evil laughter* Ahem. I really could see this happening. This little group would do anything for each other (except Jesse. I think he's the mole. Bwhahaha.) Thanks for reading, and please review!


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